Heather Gray is My New Black

With me, there is no debating some of the typical hot-button issues of our time. I believe a woman's right to terminate a pregnancy must be upheld, same-sex couples should be allowed to declare their love through marriage, and that leaders of American businesses should take a cue from the CEO of Japan Airlines, who, in a widely-publicized move, cut his own pay to less than some of his employees' salaries in order to help guide his company out of turbulent financial times.

But one of the issues I am most conflicted about is sweatpants.

I've always sort of felt that people who wear sweatpants are slobs. Often, they are the only option for the morbidly obese. College kids wear them, too -- usually (I theorize) because they're never quite sure if it's day or night, so staying in pajama-like clothing seems like a safe move. Based on what I've seen at malls, grocery stores, and county fairs, sweatpants also seem part and parcel with stains, messy hair, and Looney Tunes character t-shirts. My friend who teaches fourth grade even equates sweatpants with children who mess their pants at school, because the school nurse has extra sweatpants on hand to give the stinky kid something to wear the rest of the day.

It turns out, my criticism of sweatpants actually genetic.

My grandmother is a spry and sharp almost-91. Millie isn't necessarily a glamorous woman, but she's always cared very much about her looks. In fact, she was the first person I ever knew who had cosmetic surgery. (Don't worry, I don't have a collagen-injected granny, it was a minor facelift... like one-trillionth the severity of a Joan Rivers procedure.) Since she doesn't leave home too much in the winter anymore, my mom suggested she just get some sweatpants that will help her stay warm and cozy in her house on winter days when ice makes even going to the mailbox treacherous for an old lady.

Mille's response was almost immediate: "Sweatpants make you look like you've given up on life." Instead, she gets up every day and puts on slacks. (Her word, not mine.) Some of them are flannel-lined, which boosts the coziness factor, but all of them are pants she'd feel confident in and dressed-up enough to wear if she knew she were meeting one of her favorite people in the world: her local TV news weatherman.

My dear friend Elissa feels similarly about sweatpants. Her mom, who rarely drinks, was really sleepy after having a beer, and didn't feel like changing out of her lounge pants before going out to dinner. Elissa was incensed: "You can't wear sweatpants! This is a nice restaurant!!" Her mom was recalcitrant. "These aren't sweatpants," she argued. "They're St. John!" That may be a high-end line of ladies' clothes, but Elissa wasn't buying it. Grey heather with fleecey lining plus elastic waste multiplied by drawstring equals inappropriate for wearing in public.

I have spent years making fun of this garment and its wearers, even convincing myself that those polyester workout pants (you know, the ones with those little holes that you can't see through but your leg hairs poke through?) were so much more sophisticated and acceptible for public, because they send the message, "I'm obviously just on my way to/from working out." So boy was I surprised when I actually asked for sweatpants for Christmas.

My pre-boyfriend (that's what I will call him until we are no longer separated by 1,000 miles and schedule complications) wears what, for a lack of a better phrase, I will call fancy sweatpants. They are solid-color and fitted, with a little boot cut to them. They're like heavier yoga pants, and DJ wears them to sleep in and lounge in... occasionally (much to my chagrin, at first) sporting them out to the grocery store, too.

They seemed comfy, and he is tall, slender, and muscular enough to make them look like couture. I asked him for a pair, he dutifully delivered, and I love them. They're American Apparel, so I feel like I'm wearing a trendy brand (key to my warming up to the concept of sweatpants), and the slim fit makes them look tailored, not slovenly. I wear them around the house, and even have GASP! worn them outside, over shorts on my way to/from the gym. I even considered -- briefly -- wearing them to the grocery store for a quick errand, but my longheld beliefs kicked in and I threw jeans on instead.

I guess I finally realized why people (and I mean people who aren't morbidly obese, headed into surgery, hung over, or kids who had bowel accidents at school) wear these things. They are like staying in bed while on your feet; and who doesn't love staying in bed? They're comfy and warm, and wash well, too. When my mom saw me folding my new sweatpants, she even offered to iron them, saying, "Well, you don't want people to think you're a slob, do you?" No, I don't. But I refused the offer, as I decided that I don't care if people chuckle at me in wrinkly sweatpants: I like them, I'm comfortable in them, and that's all that matters.

I may even buy a second pair. Just don't tell my grandma. I don't want her thinking I've given up on life.

- Jacktastic